Exquisite Heartbreak

If I could but possibly grasp the enormity, vastness and fullness of IS I think surely my heart would burst. Oh sweet mercy may I crumple to the ground like children spinning and dancing then falling to the ground laughing. 

May I live to know the exquisite heartbreak of joy imploded.

Six Inches of Awakening

It is such a simple thing to wake up in the morning. I know well dark nights where perhaps a thought maybe the morning will not come. I know well the mornings where my eyes open and the world is a fresh mystery, untouched, an absolute purity, clean and open armed.

 I know well the work days where I would toddle off to a corporate meeting breathing the amazing energy of life. I would enter the room and WHAM the energy within would singe me like the open flamed hearth I imagine at steel mills. I would step back outside the door and feel the cool peace. Step back through and feel the fiery negativity. I would ponder those tiny six or so inches separating awareness into two diverse and tangible experiences. I confess, giggle, there were times I thought to do an about face, turn the other way and beg forgiveness later.

The first people the Buddha met after his enlightenment asked if he was a god or what. Buddha replied he was neither. He simply said “I am awake.”  Perhaps that is the thread of waking up in the morning - those tiny six inches or so separating my chosen experience. I can turn on my heels and not enter the portal of life as it is. I can enter as I am awake and open. To see the morning and everyone I meet, the must do, would like to do, breath and emotion as those tiny six inches. To breathe and whisper quietly, sweet mercy yes, thank you, I am and will be awake.

Leaving the Remote Control

Norman Fischer notes the Zen slogan of "Observe everything, no matter the cost" as applying to spiritual practice but more importantly, to daily life. Poets, writers, dancers, singers, the theater, and artists plead, beckon and try to shake us awake and shatter our complacency. Rumi said "don't go back to sleep." Nature with the bright sun, the glistening moon and stars, wind, floods, tornadoes, gentle breezes, ocean waves, and fall colors, like a mother tries to teach us to see, observe, to walk and explore, to leave the floor of crawling and to grow to our potential. To leave our cubes, safe rooms, beliefs, and put down the remote control. "Live your life with your eyes and heart wide-open. No matter what" ~ Norman Fischer.

Life Startled Alive

As the sun rose the clouds were definitely fall schooners. With sun rise summer returned. Then to see the first flock of migrating geese as the earth got warmer and fall crisp yielded to heat. May your day startle you such that you dance with Life folded, entwined and alive.

“To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.”

~Emily Dickinson~ 

To Touch

The haze of drifting smoke from wild fires have created a dance of colors with the sun. How can such destruction create such beauty? Perhaps, as Mary Oliver said "When the thumb of fear lifts, we become alive." To open my eyes and heart and see. Not to just see  but to look. To see. To look. To know. And then to touch....

Saint Francis and the Sow

BY GALWAY KINNELL

The bud

stands for all things,

even for those things that don’t flower,

for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;   

though sometimes it is necessary

to reteach a thing its loveliness,

to put a hand on its brow

of the flower

and retell it in words and in touch

it is lovely…..

Presence Being

Good morning little one

Deer this morning. They were in the lower yard eating what seed the birds and squirrels had not eaten. Four doe. Beneath the New Moon. I was looking upward and thinking how bright the stars seemed upon the New Moon’s sky. Felt a movement and then saw movement in the drive way and then on the other side of the fence walking up the outside of the yard, up the street back to the mountain. A straggler followed and then turned and stood still beneath the street light on the opposite corner and looked towards my direction. I do not know where she was looking but to see her stand beneath the light took my breath away. An artificial moon showed her winter gray coat.  Giggle, I sometimes forget how big deer are. 

Oh little one, they belong in the mountain area not where cars fly upon the streets not expecting deer. And yet, I giggle, why should we not expect them? This was their home before homes for human forms were built. Before cities were carved into the mountains, the mesas, this was their home. Yes the drought has called them from where they have gone to escape the cars, the cement and human activities, they have left the small areas where they can still live and returned in search of food to where they used to roam. The bears will soon be here as well.

Sometimes I think we are like the deer. Life, definitions, roles, responsibilities, desires of the hearts moved further and further away from nature’s own, until we become remote to ourselves, where our tribe used to roam beneath all the moon’s faces and starlight. Every now and then we forage outside the fences of safety to see if perhaps the geography our heart remembers has returned, is there. Our feet upon the cement instead of the earth. And yet, and yet, as I watched the doe beneath the moon we created, her body still, her head gazing this way, I wondered…what did she see? And I knew, beneath the new moon she saw what she saw…… her Tribe roaming freely, grazing, dancing beneath the New Moon and stars that celebrated the New Moon in their brightness, offering back to her the light she constantly gives to them. She stood and saw past what I was seeing in fear…cars, dogs, homes and cement. She saw what was, what is, and what will forever be….nature’s sweet call to be as one is, as one was, as one will always be…free and unconfined. She and the others had heard the Tribe’s call just like the blades of grass growing up through cement cracks, tree roots lifting sidewalks or holding firm in the side of a mountain. The heart of the Tribe, of Life, not to be denied. The New Moon sang and they left their space of fear to stand and see. To leave their presence Now with, upon, and One with the All. 

I bowed with open hands to my heart, a tear melting upon my face, like the snow, giving drink to my smile. As I stood to turn back into the house, one last gaze back and I saw her turn, heard her footsteps upon the cement and upon my heart as she slowly walked back…to the mountain, beneath the New Moon and luminous stars. And I whispered, when the sun kisses the New Moon goodnight, may I be graced to see the Tribe as did she. To know wherever I walk, I do so upon sacred ground meant to be experienced. May I answer the Call of Being she stood and saw.

Unveiled

Come little One, let me see your face. Come little One within my heart, no need to hide because you are afraid, you fear the roads, your eyes that cannot see, even signs and markers are a blur, to think of how you will see the roads. Come little One who drives with one hand because the other is not trusted, come here little One, let me see your face and let your eyes look into mine.

I do not know why but as I write these words I remember the story of Moses and God, when Moses went to the mountain top and saw God. His face became so radiant, so bright, so illuminated that no one could bear to look upon his countenance. They asked him to wear a veil. A face, a countenance, the form so transformed radiating the light he was, we are, could not be seen. And then I think of how art and literature has always been fascinated and drawn to the story of beauty and the beast. Of ugliness transformed into beauty or having such an open heart. The ugly duckling that becomes the swan. Phantom of the Opera, the frog that becomes a prince with love’s kiss. The old story of men camping in the forest on a frigid winter night and a “hag” appears asking for warmth. They shun her away, all but one who invites her to share his sleeping bag. In the morning she has transformed into a beautiful princess. Even the saints in religious paintings do not radiate they remain faces we recognize with a little halo around their heads. There are stories of beautiful ones, like Cinderella, where others are jealous and seek to kill them. But even then, the beauty that is seen is veiled; it is still a form, a face, a being we recognize. And then, there is the ancient and eastern art that portrays the gods with multiple eyes, legs, arms and mouths, even as animal shapes, trunks of elephants, snakes, unveiled of this human form. The western world is so uncomfortable with these images, the beauty and symbolism veiled in what is seen as grotesque, bloody, and inhuman. But none are the story of Moses, so radiant with the Light within, the chalice becoming the Chalice that human eyes could not look upon, and so he was forced to wear a veil as would a leper whose deformity had to be hidden.  We come so close to seeing such transformation in literature, religion and art but still we hang the veil of this form upon each painting and story and dream of what must exist and breathe within to create the beauty. We fall to our knees holding our faces to the earth afraid to look upon the face of the Divine.  

The Sufi poets like Rumi stripped away the veil. They became drunk in their divine madness.  Life became a dervish with the Beloved, to know the Kiss, to see the Eyes, to feel the Touch. They allowed no veils. Perhaps that is why lovers everywhere gravitate to their poems as perfect writings of love. But it was not to a human formed lover they wrote, though that is how we often read, it was to the radiant Beloved unveiled that transformed them, their hearts. It was the sight of the Beloved unveiled that penned such poems of Love. Having seen the face, having become drunk with divine madness, they poured and poured from their chalice the radiance, the beauty, the love, life, and oneness of all from the tiniest speck of sand to the glory of the Creator saying “let it be….” And even they have often been veiled as drunks, mystical status unattainable by normal people, or grandiose love poems embellished and beyond what we see in everyday love.

But why would the Divine, Life, Love, All That IS look upon us if not for the desire to have the gaze returned? Does not a lover look upon the face of his or her beloved longing to see the gaze returned? Are we not drawn to the stories and art longing to see the gaze returned? Do we not stand and look to the heavens seeking the gaze? Perhaps this experience in form is so that Source, the Divine, the Sweet Hands of Life can look upon Itself and experience the gaze returned.  In our essence, our light, we are Oneness, there is no separation, no gaze to be returned. In form, the gaze, the yearning, the creation, the emanation of Life created in the gaze the return is found. We experience the experience of creation, being and Being. Perhaps if Moses had not allowed the veil, others would also have seen the gaze and known the Beloved's Kiss of Life. It was not stone tablets we needed, it was the dropping of the veils.

And so little one, come forth and look upon and into these eyes. No veils this pre dawn morn that welcomes the new moon tonight. The New Moon that will leave the night sky dark and without light save that of the stars. Come forth little one, like the New Moon, and gaze into these eyes in the fullness of the Light seen, unveiled. Darkness made light. The Beloved’s Kiss of Life…unveiled.

30 minutes

Good morning Sweet Life. Thank you for eyes that opened this morning. Thank you for eyes that could see dark turn into light. Thank you for awakening in a warm bed within a house protected from the weather. Thank you for a home with an address. Thank you for a body that arose out of bed without assistance. Thank you for legs that could slide off the bed and touch the floor. Thank you for legs that supported my body to walk. Thank you for a kitchen that I can enter and be fed. Thank you for coffee and hot drink. Thank you for hands and arms that can reach for these gifts of abundance. Thank you for the computer that connects me with the world. Thank you for the electricity that turns lights, computers and coffee pots on. Thank you for a couch to sit upon. Thank you for the earth which gifted all the materials for this home, bed, food, and drink. Thank you for music. Thank you for the sense of touch and ears that can hear. Thank you for all the hands that touched, worked, and created all the things I have already touched, I see and hear. Thank you for clean clothes to put on and all the gifts of the threads from the earth. Thank you for each beat of my heart already passed unnoticed and for each breath that sustained me through the night and continued to beat when my eyes opened.

Thank you sweet life that at this moment, this very moment as I write, 7 billion people are waking to their day or gathered in the sleep I have awakened from. We each are in this moment right now held in your sweet hands. Thank you for the earth that is holding each 7 billion of us and all of nature, plant and animal life maintained by the air, sun and moon. Thank you sweet life for the 30 minutes of arising as one with all of life. Thank you sweet life. Thank you sweet life.

Thank you sweet life for the miracles of these 30 minutes. Thank you for the gifts of this day and all minutes filled with abundance and joy no different than these 30 minutes recorded that I have called mine. Thank you sweet life that each minute that follows will be as sacred and mine to choose how, what, where, of all I will see, feed, smell, touch, hear, and move towards or from. Sometimes it amazes me all the minutes that can occur in such a short span of life. How these 30 minutes become 24 hours and flow one after another. How will they flow? Once I put this pen down how will I move? What will I see? What will I feel? What will my heart record as “happening” to me? What will I record as gifts? What will I record as grace? What will I ….will?

Knowing

You know when you sit with someone and hand them a gift, and you watch so softly but intently as your friend opens the gift and his or her eyes equally soft and intent wondering what they hold in their hands. The knower and the knowing unopened. Those  flashing moments just before the gift is opened, exploding like a sprout emerging from the soil.  The sprout cresting the earth to see the sun for the first time knowing, always knowing even in its shell, that the sun surely exists...and then to greet its knowing.

An odd night last night, giggle. When I took my little dog outside I could feel the wind. The sky was filled with dark night clouds. Checked the weather and saw thunderstorms coming. As I was saying good night to my hobbit house, the lights turned off, I heard a banging and the garage door, pushed by the wind trying to move the rock keeping it in place. I went outside to see if I could secure the garage door better and caught the force of the wind in my face, but was not so much the wind I felt as the dust. As I lay in bed, even my little dog seemed vigilant, unsure, and would not settle down. Usually with winds like that you hear the wind. Not last night. Did not hear the wind. You only heard the thud and banging of who knows what ... I will have to wait until the sun rises this morning to see.

I lay there listening and was carried back to my first memory of the Gulf's waves at night on a cloudy night without the moon. Sitting in darkness you hear the roar of the waves, the splash, the swooosh of the water lapping up on the shore, pulling back and crashing softly into the new rivers flowing in. You could not see the waves. You could not see the sand. You only saw darkness. And in the darkness you heard the waves. That sound is woven deep into my soul and even my body, it is tangible, palpable. I've listened to wave sounds thinking they would bring that same feeling, but for some reason they do not. Oh yes, comforting and make me smile, but it is not the same. It is not just the hearing, it is the power, the energy, the motion of waves in the air crashing upon you that creates the tapestry woven. Like the wind last night that could not be heard save for the motion of waves in the air crashing upon objects outside.

And so I ponder...is that the same experience of the seed? The knowing. Is there sound when the earth is moved with roots digging down and when the sprout pushes through? Is there sound we cannot hear...unless we listen to the breath of the earth carrying the whispers "Come and greet your knowing."

Soft Eyes

The morning image whispered was that of the old fashion alarm clocks before cell phones and digital clocks. The old timey clock with two bells that would shatter the world with their clanging. No snooze. Just metal banging against metal announcing it was time to wake up. With a shiver and wonder as to why this image, my small four legged angel sat next to me and the clanging melted into soft gentle eyes that were nothing but love and presence.

Truth is, every breath, every thought, every action and movement I make is a wake-up call. A wake-up call to my heart, my mind, to those around me, those distant, and even to the sweet sweet earth that is my sanctuary. My presence touches and awakens all around me including who and what I cannot see.

Sweet mercy...may I remember these eyes.

May I awaken my heart and mind with these eyes.

May I awaken and touch the world with these eyes.

May I simply be...soft eyes.

Absolution Walking Visible

There is a path I walk among the mountains and the lake that takes me to two different bends and two different trees. I call the trees my Orb Trees.  Like a little dog that hears the car of their owner pulling into the drive, my heart beats faster as I approach each tree.  I greet them with love and joy. I lean my body into their trunks and lay my face against their bark. With my eyes closed I can see colors of light. Sometimes the light takes a shape other times just brilliant light beaming through the dark of my eye lids.

                When I walked on the Eve of Eve, having been absent for a bit, I could not wait to melt into the Oneness and serenity of my precious Orb Trees. In nature I dissolve. Everything quiets, and I simply melt and feel only Nature. Yet, I knew from the first step I took upon the path, something was different this day. Having heard the yearning to simply re-member and BE who and what I Am I could sense that today would be different.  I leaned into each Orb Tree and felt my body against the trunk. It was a physical body, a human body leaning against a precious tree. Oh yes, I could feel the life of Nature, but for the first time, I felt my physical body and my bodymindspirit leaning against a tree.  There were not lights dancing. The absence of lights created a bridge of I and Thou. One with Nature but a gentle reminder that I, my Self, remains unique, an individual expression of All That Is. And as I breathed into each tree, I whispered, “Absolution.”

Continuing upon the path, faces returned with each step. Where the bruises and scars had spoken of endings, of should be’s becoming not to be’s the touch of the bark caressed my face, each bruise and each scar. Nothing, no thing had ended…All was, is as should be. There was no separation. There was nothing to forgive and move on from, either stronger or perhaps weaker from the lessons learned. There were no lessons. No need to melt into the Orb Trees where I felt safe from harm, accepted and One. The Orb Trees and I are surely One, but our Oneness is joined within All That Is. They remain trees and I remain human. Our expressions, our divine and innate creation, within All That Is, is our Oneness. And so it was with each face that returned bearing the mantle of forgiveness I had laid upon their shoulders.  Slowly I removed each mantle. Each unwrapping revealing his or her own light, their expression.  Their bark caressed my face as I leaned into him or her. Absolution.

Walking the path back to the car, I turned 360 and stood tall enough to see the mountain tops from the perspective of the clouds.  I could feel my presence becoming a bridge. I giggled, smiled, and whispered, "Let's go. It's time" and walked back visible.

Essenceperience

It is perhaps something my mind does not want to ponder long, for then I would truly see the shadows of illusion. But my perception creates my reality. What I choose to focus (or not) upon becomes what is real, reality to me.  Yet if I look through the eyes of the All That Is, the Source of All, there is only one reality that is real...Love. Unconditional. Without judgment. Without differentiation. Without fear.

Timeless folds of Love without beginning, yet present today and without end. Today there is no thing to perceive save one... the experience of the Essence of All That Is..... Today, sweet Life may I Essenperience Love.

Thread of Night

A magical day, no matter its contents, the magic rests in that you were present and part of it. And now, as the moon dances her way across the star glittered sky, the Magic prepares to turn the page to yet another day, first kissing Her fingers which are placed upon your eyes for sleep and then quietly to turn the page as you dream. To awaken in the morn to another page scribed in magic contained in a book that bears not the words, "The End."

Harvest Pondered

I turn the calendar’s page and ponder the month.  October, the harvest month. Where we gather the hopes and dreams planted in the spring, patiently watched and prayed for during the summer.  A time to gather and work together. I ponder how communities of old would come together to bring in the harvest, always leaving some for those who had none and for nature’s own community to feast.  October, a time of anticipation.  And I recall the Hopi words of wisdom and look to the fields within my heart…. What shall be my harvest?  And what can I leave to give abundance to others? 

"You have been telling people that this is the Eleventh Hour, now you must go back and tell the people that this is the Hour. And there are things to be considered. . . . Where are you living? What are you  doing? What are your relationships? Are you in right relation? Where is your water? Know your garden. It is time to speak your truth. Create your community. Be good to each other. And do not look outside yourself for your leader. Then he clasped his hands together, smiled, and said, "This could be a good time! There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water. And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate. At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally, least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey come to a halt. The time of the one wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word 'struggle' from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

We are the ones we've been waiting for". ~ Hopi Indian Elder’s Prophecy

To Know the Dance

What is it about Autumn that draws so many souls to see? The trees aflame with glorious colored leaves are like the blush of the evening sky as the sun draws down and the day comes to an end.  Like the sun, the source of life has drawn down into the earth and nestled within the roots awaiting spring’s warmth.  The leaves, deprived of the sap, will fall without clinging, upon the earth.  They do so without fear knowing the tree, their essence remains. Like the brilliance of the evening sunset that inflames lovers, poets and artists, both leaf and sun know they will return and bid not adieu but simply ‘good night.’  To assure us of their return they inflame our hearts with awe, playfulness, excitement and wonder.  Like the moon that stands constant throughout the night, the stark naked trees hold vigil.  In their vigil, should we forget the passionate colors of Autumn, they offer their unshielded nakedness in a wild frenzied dance of life.  A dance unseen without the stillness of life drawn back into the earth.

Sweet Hands of Life, when my winter season arrives, may all that be said or seen point to the dance of the trees and a leaf aflame with color dancing her way without fear to the earth.

Mountain Loom

"Fear is not of the unknown, but of the loss of the known. The unknown does not incite fear, but dependence on the known does" (Krishnamurti).  "Love is incapable of asking anything" (Course in Miracles).

Two threads seemingly so different in texture and intent, woven together in my mind and this picture. The little heart, the precious spirit that makes no demands, but quietly waits while our minds and bodies continue to cling to the expectations, labels, and "must do's" and definitions of right and wrong, proper and improper, what we can be and cannot,  imprinted upon us from birth and daily reinforced. Sometimes we feel the pulse, the heartbeat but quickly turn away. The spirit and heart make no demands nor do they confine with demands and definitions. To listen would mean giving up the known and trusting the Love that simply asks nothing, waiting to hold your hand so you can truly Be.

And the picture? To help you see and let go of the fear, the precious heart and spirit whisper, "if mountains and obstacles you must have to lessen the fear, I shall open the heavens and bring down a mountain of Spirit for you to see and climb."

Tangible 'Yes'

Hellen Keller, without hearing, without sight, without speech and untouched by the world had no bridge nor thread to tie the words spelled into her hand by Anne Sullivan. Words we take for granted were no more than a scratch in the palm of her hand. Finally, Anne thrust Helen's hand into a pump's stream of water spelling w-a-t-e-r  in the palm of her hand.  It was a baptism into context, sensation, and life became tangible, even precious.

"Prove it!" "Show me your evidence!" "What makes you think you would know!" The proverbial pat on the head that conveys the other's superiority and knowing and our child like simplicity they tolerate. Our world demands facts, cause and effect, evidence and proof.  I cannot prove these threads of hope or the whispers of life calling each to arise and take hold of their dream. I cannot even say I have or can always believe. I cannot say when "post" is clicked that doubt does not batter me. I simply cannot prove that you and I fill a desire in the universe, a unique niche and calling, a dreaming made alive for a purpose.  I am not so wise.

I know when I laid my body down into this snow melt running river, the riverbed sand clinging to my hair and the tiny pebbled river rocks dancing under my body, I thought I felt my heart stop.  And instead of "w-a-t-e-r" scratched in the palm of my hand, sand, water, rocks and cold etched in the silence of the heart's brief stillness "y-e-s".  My own baptism into context, sensation and life becoming tangible.  And so, my simple thread, for however many or few the seasons remain, will be to spell "y-e-s" with threads, whispers and even tears. Maybe one day an echo. Maybe another's hand reaching for mine beneath the pump's or river's streaming water. 

I do believe.

First Migration

First migration! First migration..... first migration. If only computer typed words could sing the song of my heart to see the first dance of geese across the sky, silhouettes against the rising sun as I began an early morning walk. Sigh... if only you could know this simple childlike heart that stood breathless to watch.  First migration, the return home. The call in their hearts that lift their wings and the journey begins.

I have walked the seasons, counting not years, but the rhythm and dance of seasons as they turn the pages of my life. Sometimes the rhythm leaves dog eared pages turned down to remember or threads dangling as bookmarks.  As their dance carried them beyond my eyes, the sun drew my eyes to see the green leaf covered in morning dew. The green of spring's kiss glimmering in the sun.  Next week is autumn's equinox yet spring continued to bathe a leaf. 

 Just beyond the glistening drops of spring's kiss the sun painted what was to come. Against the yellow of autumn, shawled with the red of fire and life, the grass created a shadow of fall's naked dancing tree. Spring and summer's luminous kiss against the rhythm of fall dancing onto the stage.

First migration.  The call to journey home.  Spring's kiss and autumn's naked fiery dance.  Another page turned. Another threaded bookmark.  And a whispered prayer to all who might see and maybe even to feel this morning reverie, 'Lift your wings. Dance lightly onto the stage. May your heart rejoice in the rhythm with the assurance, she knows the way Home.'

Thrice Asked

Alternating my  eyes, Kindle font at its largest, and the blurred dancing words read:

“A basket full of bread sits on your head but you beg for crusts from door to door. Up to your knees in the stream’s water and you seek a drink from this person and that.  Would that you could know yourself for a time! Would that you could see a sign of your own beautiful face. … If you could only see your own beauty-for you are greater than the sun! Why are you withered and shriveled in this prison of dust? Why not become fresh from the gentleness of the heart’s spring? Why not laugh like a rose? Why not spread perfume?" ~Rumi

I will not write with the voice of “we.”  I will ask only myself.  I believe in the key. I believe in the keyhole etched to fit the key. I believe in the door knob that turns when the emptiness of the keyhole is filled with that which was carved out. I believe in the door.  So why is it so hard to place hand upon knob and insert the key? I know so many other doors, their handles and doorknobs worn with the imprint of my palms.  Is the act reserved only for others, the great, the inspired, the beautiful, learned and perhaps holy? Or is it the fear of the unknown, untested, and what if, that makes me distrustful of the uncertainty and blurriness?  Leaving me to doubt the angel beckoning, ‘come through the door and believe.’

“Would that you could know yourself….. see a sign of your own beautiful face….Why not? Why not? Why not?” Three times he asks, three times I reply……………….

Reflecting Choice

And if everything is a reflection of myself, my soul and heart, a part of all I see....

Then let my body dance like the waving fern limbs, supple, bending, swaying in the breeze.

Then let my spirit simply stretch her wings with no thought of how, and soar towards the heavens.

Then let my heart crack open like the butterfly's cocoon, the oak's acorn, the earth to blade of grass, and life pour forth.

So many images, aspirations and affirmations of what I could be and perhaps am.  My blurred eyes gently remind me... a reflection requires you to see.  Aspirations, affirmations and desires are the nectar but first you have to open your eyes, look and choose what you see.